When we were six, our parents and grandparents took us on our first trip to San Francisco. We pointed across the bay toward the far end of the Golden Gate and said, "Daddy, what's that?"

"That's Sausalito."

Over fifteen years later engaged in a fling with an attractive future street-performer who often housesat in nearby Tiburon (it's Spanish for "shark"), and the last time we visited, a girl tried to unsuccessfully dump us as we sat on the Bay drinking whiskey and wine. She later accomplished this via greeting card. But we'd go back to Sausalito, if only to see this Caminofied Land Cruiser, apparently owned by Dave's Diving Service. And, as one can probably guess, we're partial to Daves in random truck-like vehicles with rusty forehoods around these parts.